


Learning the Art

by keelywolfe



Category: British Actor RPF, Sherlock (TV) RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Multi, Oral Sex, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-03
Updated: 2012-03-03
Packaged: 2017-11-01 01:26:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It should have been obvious from the start that Mark was a flirt and a tease of the first order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning the Art

**Author's Note:**

> Can I blame this on the fever? Please? People asked to see my cold medicine-induced porn and here it is.
> 
> Disclaimer: Any resemblance to people living is pure fiction, none of this is anywhere near the realm of real. Just like Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter, it's all pretend. And cold medicine.

* * *

 

It should have been obvious from the start that Mark was a flirt and a tease of the first order. From the first script reading, before he'd ever been cast as Sherlock, Ben should have known. It really should not have taken an evening in his hotel room and two glasses of decent wine for him to realize it, but then, perhaps it was just as well. He didn't quite want to imagine discussing the fine technique of blowing another man anywhere near the cameras.   
  
"It's an art form," Mark informed him, lazily. He was sprawled across one of the sofas, stocking feet propped on the arm when it proved too short for him. "Much the same as the Mona Lisa but easier for the uneducated to appreciate."  
  
"Your blowjobs are comparable to the Mona Lisa?" Martin sounded more than half-asleep, understandably; he was at least three glasses of wine ahead of Ben. Luckily, the sofas were rather more sized for him to spread out. Idly, Ben wondered if he could get him to switch for the love seat, his own knees were getting rather cramped.   
  
Mark waved an expansively dismissive hand at that. "Nonsense, I'm much more talented than that."  
  
"So you say," Ben interjected softly, sipping his wine. Red, it seemed, was the preferred wine for discussions of sexual technique.  
  
"I could teach you," Mark favoured him with a coy wink. "Call it a late birthday gift." Just the offer made Ben choke and he took a deeper drink to cover it, ignoring the warmth seeping into his cheeks. Just because he'd spent the bulk of his adult life with one woman did not mean that he was unpractised, thank you, and he was not about to be flustered by such an obvious bit of teasing.   
  
Instead, he shook his head in mock sadness. "Teach me to give you a blowjob?" Ben snorted. "That's not self-serving at all."  
  
"No, no, no, of course not, entirely too distracting. We'd need a test model, a control, as it were. Martin?"  
  
"Hrmmm?" Martin cracked open one eye, regarding the both of them blearily. Poor sod was probably exhausted, flitting off between filming in New Zealand and then back home.   
  
"Care to be sucked off in the interest of learning?"  
  
Martin stretched, joints popping, and he groaned aloud. "I'm being sucked off or I'm sucking?"  
  
"Benedict sucking you off."  
  
Ben stared at the both of them, only realizing he was clutching his wine glass when his hand started to ache and forcibly he relaxed it before the thin glass cracked. To his embarrassment, he felt a blush heat his cheeks when Martin cast a glance his way, let his eyes drift down to rest on Ben's mouth. Apparently, Martin was as much of a tease as Mark, silly gits, they wouldn't just—  
  
"Why not?" Martin said agreeably. He rolled to his feet and scrubbed both hands over his face, rubbing away sleepiness. "Never let it be said that I don't support the arts."  
  
Really, flirts and teases the both of them. Ben laughed and pretended he didn't hear his own nervousness, sinking back into the cushions. Ridiculous, truly, it wasn't like they were actually going to do this.   
  


* * *

"You need to use your tongue more," Mark's voice was a hushed murmur, close to his ear. "Pretend it's an ice pop."

"I haven't had an ice pop in years," Ben countered, even as he closed his eyes, dragging his tongue up taut skin and tasting warm salt, nothing like any memory of an ice pop he'd had in his youth. Above him, Martin made a low sound, his hips hitching up in a silent plea. It should have been horribly awkward, all three of them naked on the king-sized bed in his hotel suite. Ben had tried to protest it at first; no one actually *had* to be naked for a blowjob and yet, somehow Mark had managed to make it seem perfectly reasonable, the unfairness of it all for Martin to be the only one with his kit off. 

Mark, it seemed, could make any number of things seem perfectly reasonable on little sleep and a lot of wine.

"Then pretend you are an actor and make the attempt." The laugh in Mark's voice wasn't at all implied. "Curl your tongue around the head, there you are. And Martin, do try to hold still. Cocksucking is an art and Benedict obviously has the instinct, but anyone can choke their first time." 

There was a heavy droplet of wet slickness at the head and Ben licked it away, thoughtfully, trying not to shy away at the taste. Not that he'd never tasted it before, only the flavour had been diluted in the mouths of women, his own taste kissed between them. Never tasted it so directly before, sucked hesitantly at the head of another man's cock, felt a warm hand settle on the back of his head, tangling into his hair. 

Mark tutted softly next to him, "No, no, Martin let him have control of it for now." The hand slid away and Ben flicked a glance over, saw that Mark had threaded his own fingers through Martin's, giving him something to hold on to. Encouraged, he lowered his head again, drawing in a deep breath that smelt of sex and strangely, of Martin's aftershave, was it strange that he knew it? He nuzzled softly against the base of his cock, slid his tongue up the length of it to Mark's sighed approval. 

"Oh, that's…" Martin gasped. The thigh beneath Ben's hand was tense, struggling to be still as he wrapped his mouth around the tip, learned the shape of it with his tongue. Breathing through his nose was the challenge, inching his mouth further down, opening to the gagging shape of it. He managed a bit then pulled back to breathe a moment.

Martin's groan of disappointment mingled with Mark leaning in, crooning against his ear, "Very good for a first try. He liked it so very much."

"Did," Martin agreed, somewhat blurrily. "Can you…again? A bit of?"

He had to nod, jerkily, not trusting his voice. Ben wet his lips before leaning in, letting Martin's cock press them open, slide between them. Breeching him and this time, Ben took a bit more, swallowing desperately against the warm rush of saliva that filled his mouth, as though his brain had decided this was something delicious. It was, hard against his tongue, holding his mouth wide as he tried to focus on sliding Martin's cock in, in, then out. Finding a rhythm, sliding in deep each time. 

"That's it, oh, that's lovely," Hot breath against his ear. "But I'm certain Martin would make even lovelier noises if you could suck him. Can you manage that?"

Ben wasn't certain he *could* manage it. All his focus was on the slick-slide of cock in his mouth, on stroking his tongue against it. Sucking seemed like a contortion beyond him and he couldn't even speak to protest it, couldn't shake his head. A low, guttural sound of protest lodged in his throat and he felt Martin shudder, felt the hard tremor run through him. 

"Benedict," Cajoling him, Mark's hands slid up the backs of his arms and held there, leaning over him. Watching him, yes, watching the wet slide of Martin's cock as it glided into his mouth. "Suck him. I'd like to see that."

"S'all right," Martin gasped out, and Ben could hear him scrambling at the sheets, fingers digging in. Perhaps trying not to grab him by the back of the head and simply fuck his way into Ben's mouth. "This is fine, this is gorgeous."

"No." The calm certainty chilled through Ben, cooling him, calming. "He can do it and I'd like to see him try. Ice pops, if you recall. Please, Benedict, do try."

Sucking, yes, he could do this. He pulled back, held just the head between his lips and he didn't quite recall ice pops but he did remember lollies and carefully, gingerly, he sucked, remembering candy-sweetness and artificial cherries against his tongue. 

Martin's cock tasted like neither of those and it felt nothing like a lolly. His strangled cry was its own inspiration, the way his legs jerked, trying to rise, trying to pull Ben down.

"Benny," Martin whispered, almost more of a whine, "Oh, Christ, you have to take a little more, you have to."

"Try," Mark added, coaxing, "Certainly you can try. Please." He was nearly sprawled over Ben's back, his hands tight on his shoulders, though careful not to push down. So careful, leaning in close simply to watch. 

Ben closed his eyes and sucked, hard, felt the tension prickle behind his eyes and he drew in a ragged breath through his nose, tried to work his tongue against it as he took in more. And more, encouraged by the stream of low swearing coming from Martin, his voice crackling worse than an old record. That was its own loveliness, feeling Martin fall to pieces beneath his hands. It made it easy to suck harder, swallowing against the thickness that was nudging close to the back of his throat. 

Almost helplessly, Martin bucked up, just a little, enough to press tightly into his throat and Ben had to pull back in panic, coughing, gah, too much. He was swallowing hard, massaging his throat, and four hands were petting him soothingly, one set of them trembling. 

"Sorry, I'm sorry," Martin panted, his hands like a warm apology in Ben's hair. 

"Mm, yes, it does take some getting used to." Mark's lips were soft against Ben's temple before he whispered, "Why not let me take a turn?"

He barely had time to move back before Mark slithered between them, already moving Martin to lie flat even as he slid his mouth down. Martin's eyes were shut tight, his fingers ruffling through ginger hair and Ben could only watch with wide eyes as Mark sucked, his mouth moving up and down with perfect expertise. 

At least Martin seemed to think it was perfect. His back arched in a bow, his mouth dropping open, and the sounds, wet and obscene, were almost lost in Martin's increasingly loud cries. The temptation to watch was there, Martin flushed and coming would certainly be a worthy show and Mark's lips were spit-shiny and red, wrapped tightly around Martin's prick. 

Martin's open mouth offered its own temptation, though, and Ben found that in the end, he couldn't resist it. Crawled over and pressed his mouth to Martin's, shared whatever leftover flavour of himself that lingered in his mouth. Martin startled as though he'd been bitten, his mouth lax with shock, but he recovered quickly, his hands, so hesitant when Ben had his mouth on his prick, had no doubts about grabbing his hair now. Holding him still for harsh, biting kisses until Ben was wincing with each one, biting back, oh, yes, half-devoured with lips and tongue and teeth. 

"Gah!" Martin whimpered, jolting hard, and Ben couldn't resist pulling back, resting his head on Martin's chest and looking down the length of his body. Mm, yes, his own private porn show, Mark sucking cock like a man who was far past the remedial courses, the pink, wet tip of his tongue just visible against his lower lip as he drew Martin in again to the root without a trace of hesitancy. It was the movement of his shoulder that caught his eye, rhythmic motion and Ben was hardly a true Sherlock Holmes but it didn't take much deducing to notice Martin's wide spread legs and that only one of Mark's hands were visible, clutching Martin's hip. 

Ben shifted up to Martin's ear, licking it with a wet, nasty stripe, "How many fingers does he have in you?"

"One," Martin gasped, "Oh, Christ, oh, fuck, t-two, he's…oh…oh…" Speech collapsed, a reddish flush spread across his chest, and Ben watched as Mark pulled off with an obscenely wet sound, his hand shifting quickly from Martin's hip to his cock, stroking with vicious, tight pulls. The first wet splash of semen landing on Martin's stomach in a pale, startling stripe and Ben reached for it without thinking, drawing his finger through it, marring it, even as more burst forth, splattering over the back of his hand and arm. 

The sounds Martin made were closer to a wail, bright and loud so close to Ben's ear and he watched Martin come with fascination. He'd never seen another man come, not outside of a poorly done porno, and he slicked his hand down Martin's belly, smearing warm semen over his palm. 

Mark propped his chin on one hand, eyes heavy and thoughtful, "Normally I would have swallowed but I felt you might appreciate a visual."

"Ta," Ben murmured, "Yes." He lifted his hand, rubbing his thumb across his fingers, testing the consistency, then touched his fingers to his tongue, meticulously licking each one with curiosity. 

"Oh, fuck me," Martin muttered and Ben startled, realizing he could see. He tilted his head up defiantly, unashamed, and sucked a finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it much the same as he had to Martin's prick only minutes ago. 

"That sounds like an invitation," Mark's smile was just shy of wicked. "If you'd like to, Benedict, you'll never have a better opportunity. I promise you, he is quite relaxed."

If he'd like to. Benedict pulled his finger free with a soft, wet pop and bit his lip, worried at it with his teeth. "I…" he hesitated. Tempting, oh, so damned tempting, but there was a blowjob and then there was— "Martin?"

"Oh, hell, why not?" Martin mumbled. "Don't think I can move, though."

"I assure you, there is strength in numbers. Benedict and I can move you." He suited words to action swiftly, gathering the pillows from the head of the bed. "Benedict, if you would?"

Hastily, he complied, helping Martin roll over, arranging him comfortably with the pillows beneath his hips. Arching them up invitingly, no, he could be honest with himself at least. Arching his arse up invitingly, knees just slightly spread, offering a place for someone to nestle between them. 

Mark fussed over the arrangements, tucking another pillow beneath Martin's head and chest so he could sprawl in billowy comfort. He was already snuggling into them, seeming more interested in sleep than sex at the moment and Benedict let his hands hover over bare skin uncertainly. He wanted this, oh, so very much, but he didn't want it like this, Martin offering only as a favour, not out of any true desire. It made his own cock droop slightly just considering it. 

Slim, long fingers circled his prick, stroking gently and Ben nearly leapt out of his skin in shock, even as he pressed back against the warm lips grazing the back of his neck, Mark pulling him back into his arms. "Don't worry, he'll be interested again soon enough."

"Y.yes," Ben stuttered, biting out his s's as properly as he could. Martin had teased him mercilessly about his lisp and he was hardly going to give him any more ammunition, certainly not now. 

Another soft kiss, moist and ticklish at his hairline, and then Mark pulled away, leaning over the side of the bed to rummage through the side table. "Mm, yes, this will do nicely."

He came back, crawling over the enormous expanse of the bed on hands and knees, and offered Benedict a small tube and a foil packet. "Alas, some amenities do not come pre-packaged in men and Martin will certainly thank you for it tomorrow whenever he sits."

Benedict resolutely did not blush. "Thank you."

"Of course," Mark's smile shaded back into wicked. "Now let's see you use them."

"Can't see anything," Martin mumbled, his words half-muffled into the pillow.

Mark gave him a fond look, "You don't need to, lovely. Simply lay there and enjoy it."

"'Kay," Martin sighed and Benedict bit his tongue as Martin shifted, drawing his knees further up. Offering, one might say, if one were feeling charitable. Asking for it, if one wasn't and Ben didn't think he'd ever felt less charitable in his life.

Martin had smooth, pale skin on his arse and it was entirely too tempting for Benedict to resist running his hands over, palming the smooth curves, cupping his hips and testing the way they felt in his hands. Perfect, entirely too much so, and Benedict drew a shaky breath, fumbling for the tube Mark had given him. The label declared it to be unscented hand lotion and it was slippery enough against Ben's fingers, warming easily.

He took a breath, aware of Mark's eyes on him, and slid a single finger down between the cheeks of Martin's arse, seeking and finding the small, tight hole. He pressed, felt a quiver run through Martin, a hint of tension as he woke from whatever orgasmic dream he'd been basking in. 

Mark reached out and smoothed a hand down Martin's spine, "Easy," he hushed, soothing, "It's quite all right. Just relax and let Benedict take care of you."

Martin's head moved in a jerky nod and he exhaled, tension easing, "Right. Right, go ahead, Ben."

"You're sure?" Ben asked softly. He hadn't pressed his finger inside, but he couldn't help circling the tip against that tightly clenched hole, silently begging for entrance. He would stop if Martin asked, he would, only he wanted this, so terribly much. 

"Yeah," Martin ground out, "Yeah, I'm sure, I want you to—Christ!" he shuddered as Ben pushed a finger into him, one smooth deep push. His own gasp was eclipsed by Martin's cry, the feel of hot, clenched muscle around his finger was astonishing. Nothing like being inside a woman, it felt like Martin was trying to pull him inside and Benedict could only blink in amazement, wondering at the tight clench of it, the rapid, pattering pulse that he could feel or perhaps that was his own. Carefully, he pushed in deeper, spreading the lotion into Martin and if it made him writhe against the pillows, choking off moans in a perfectly gorgeous way, well, Ben would consider that a luxury. 

"Yes, that's it, that's perfect," Mark crooned, stroking his hands down Martin's back, sliding damply through the thin layer of sweat rising on his skin. It gave Martin's skin a bit of a glow, a golden shine in the dim bedroom light and Ben admired it silently, indulged himself in the fancifulness of it as he twisted his finger in deeper.

"Christ!" Martin bit off, squirming between Ben's finger and the pillows and Ben swallowed away a heavy thickness in his throat. If Martin was like this now, with only a finger, what would he be like with Ben inside him, pressing his cock in, riding into him, oh, God.

"Easy," Mark was pressing gentle kisses against Martin's shoulders, his hand firm between them, holding him still as Ben slid in another finger alongside the first. "Easy, Martin, just let Benedict love you."

Oh, he hadn’t, had he really said…Benedict flinched slightly, drawing into himself a bit even as he pushed his fingers in deeply, twisting them into Martin until the stubborn clench of his arse eased a bit, allowing him to thrust them in again, a mimic of the sex to come. Perhaps Martin hadn't heard, though, that was certainly possible with the way he was writhing and whimpering, rocking back against Ben's fingers with unholy eagerness. 

"Benedict, it's hardly kind to keep him waiting when he's so very ready," Mark flashed him another wicked smile, shifting back and resting on his elbows, as casual as if he were at a picnic and his own cock wasn't heavy between his thighs. "Take him, won't you?" His smile darkened, heated. "Fuck him. He wants you so very much. "

"Yes," Martin slurred out. His knees slid further apart, hips arching up in lewd offering, "Yeah, I want you. Ben, my Benny, please, fuck me."

Ben withdrew his fingers with unseemly haste, from Martin's startled gasp, but there was no protest, only that same, heated pleading. Fuck me, Ben, Benny, please, fuck me. Over and over and Ben's hands were slick with lotion and shaking so badly that the condom refused to open, sliding tauntingly through his fingers as he ground his teeth in frustration. 

Long fingers plucked it away, opening it with swift expertise and Ben groaned aloud as Mark quickly rolled it on, his hands barely lingering, "There we are, wrapped up pretty as a present. I only wish I had a bow."

Ben swallowed hard, steadying himself, closing his eyes against the sight of Martin twisting against the pillows. There was no shutting out the sounds and Martin was pleading with him, rasping out obscenities that throbbed right into Ben's eardrums, sinking heavily into his cock. 

"Easy," Mark murmured, repeating what he'd already said so many times that night, "Easy, now. He's going to love this. As, I suspect, are you." 

Ben's eyes flew open, met the sympathetic blue of Mark's, "What do you—" Only to have his words captured in a soft kiss, Mark's tongue stroking into his mouth. He leaned into it, indulging in the odd comfort for a brief moment before Mark drew away with a sharp grin.

"Now, I do believe Martin has waited long enough." He ran a hand down Martin's back, sliding two fingers testingly between his arse cheeks and Ben was startled by an urge to slap his hand away. Martin moaned, hips rising to meet them, only to find emptiness as Mark drew back and waved a hand at Ben."Benedict, for God's sake, take the poor man."

Take him, yes, Benedict shuffled forward on his knees, ran a steadying hand down Martin's back even as he guided himself with the other, pressing his cock against the slick, loosened hole. The inward slide was incredible, impossible heat surrounding him as he pushed in hard, felt the stubborn resistance easing. Virgin resistance, his mind informed him helplessly, the only virginity Martin had left to offer and Ben was taking it just now, edging into him while Martin went suddenly still beneath him, that endless begging cutting off into a muffle moan. 

He hesitated, uncertainly, "Martin?" The clenching heat around the head of his cock was the world's best distraction but Ben ignored it. "Are you…am I hurting you?"

Martin had his face buried into the pillows but the ear that Ben could see was scarlet red. "Yes…no…" Martin whimpered out. "It's…oh…oh, god."

Ben froze, his inward slide melting away and he started easing back out when Martin moaned loudly, "No, fuck, no, don't stop! You have to…" Another moan and his body clenched around Ben's prick tight/hot/perfect and his own shout rose to meet Martin's as he instinctively pushed deeper, sinking into Martin with startling ease.

"Relax, Martin," Mark moved to lay next to them, his hand gentle in the damp spikiness of Martin's hair. "I know it burns a bit, just relax, let him inside you."

Martin gave a jerky nod and some of the tightness surrounding Ben eased, letting him push in deep, until he could feel the warm curve of Martin's arse against his balls, a startling, lovely touch. Experimentally, he pulled back a fraction and Martin nearly squeaked, "Stop!"

It took every ounce of control he'd ever learned in his acting classes to pause, holding perfectly still while he was balls-deep in Martin, God, inside Martin, and he couldn't help leaning down, pressing a kiss into the sweaty skin at the middle of Martin's back. "All right?" he asked, softly, because he wanted this, true, but he never wanted to hurt Martin. Never.

"No, it's good, s'good," Martin squirmed, went tight around Ben's cock in an excruciatingly wonderful way before it eased again. "I'm just…if you move I'll…I'm going to come right now."

And didn't that drive a spike of heat straight through him. Ben rested his forehead against Martin's shoulderblade, sucking in salt-flavoured air, tasting sex in every mouthful as he waited, ignoring the low, blue throb in his balls until Martin sighed and squirmed, rocking back against him cautiously. 

The smooth glide inside him was beyond what anyone could bear and Ben thrust in hard, once, one gloriously perfect movement before he caught himself, stilling again. Martin made a startled sound, his hips twisting back again, urging, and Ben couldn't stop again. He grabbed Martin's hips, fingers digging in bruise-deep as he ground into him, fiercely, holding him tightly while Ben gave it to him, two hard, brutally deep thrusts before he caught the withering edge of his control.

"Ah, god, god!" Martin's hand flailed over the sheets, seeking purchase and was caught by Mark, who threaded their fingers together tightly, holding him. 

"That's it, easy, Martin," he murmured, before casting a reproachful look at Ben. "I think you've made him wait long enough."

"I..I'm not making him…wait…" Ben had to close his eyes against the sound of his own voice, impossibly deep, thick with wanting. 

"Really, you are. Gather what wits you still possess and *fuck* him, won't you?"

"Please," Martin was moaning pitifully and perhaps Mark had a point. "Please, please."

Benedict swore, softly, pulled his hips back and did as he was told, snapped them forward and pushing in as deeply as he could. And again, again, as Martin writhed and squirmed and keened beneath him, pleading in gaspy, unintelligible sounds as Ben drove into him, fucked noises out of him that made Ben bite his lip hard enough to taste the iron tang of blood. Absolutely, incredibly gorgeous, Martin completely lost beneath him and Ben was quickly losing himself in the tight, slick clench of Martin's arse. 

His vision was starting to go smoky, edged in blackness and Ben lowered his head, focusing on the smooth, shifting muscles of Martin's back. Rhythmic movement, following each hard push into him and the slap of his hips against Martin's was the most erotic of obscenities, a drum tempo rising higher as Ben strained to get deeper, to push in hard, to fuck Martin as he'd been ordered, and the skin beneath his hands was slick-soft, slippery and hard to grip. He dug his nails in, unthinkingly, Martin barely seemed to notice, his hoarse cries devolving into near sobs.

If there were words, Ben was past interpreting, past anything but the brutal jackhammer rhythm of his hips, rolling them into Martin and he could feel it, inside, the sudden tightness surrounding him, pressure rising close to pain as Martin tipped his head back and came. No sound escaped him, Ben was blurrily uncertain if Martin was even breathing; all his focus was honed to needle-sharpness at his cock, shoving into Martin inelegantly, driving for his own. He was past the point of needing, past anything but heat, heat, spasming tightness around him and Ben dimly heard his own near-scream, his vision going blood-red behind his eyelids as orgasm crashed over him. Or perhaps that wasn't the correct word but Ben couldn't conceive of another, not while he was shaking and jerking and straining to get even the tiniest bit deeper, to take everything, anything Martin had left to offer him. 

In the past, Ben would have been horrified to collapse down on his partner like a dead weight; he was not as light as his appearance would suggest and nothing ruined a moment faster than crushing the breath out of someone. Not to say that he wasn't a little horrified to be doing it now but he found that he didn't have much of an option in the matter. Moving was impossible, a fairy tale, and he'd sooner be able to tie his shoes with his teeth than move off of Martin just now. 

Martin's breathing was strained beneath his ear, shallow breathes edged in moans and whether it was because he didn't care that he was being crushed or he couldn't get enough air to protest, Ben wasn't certain. The way his hand shifted, shakily, sliding to cover Ben's own, though, seemed telling. 

It was curiosity rather than etiquette that finally had him lifting his head. Wet, low sounds were registering; a low murmur of words, and Ben lolled his head in that direction, forcing his eyes to open.

Mark was sitting next to them still, his hand between his legs, wanking with urgent focus and Ben's eyes widened at the sight and then narrowed in displeasure. It wasn't just his own hand involved, Martin had at least a half-hearted grip invested, and Mark was leaning against the headboard, whispering hoarse words of encouragement. 

"Ah, yes, that's it, Martin, that's lovely," he murmured. "You were lovely, the both of you."

Ben licked his lips, wincing at the dryness of his tongue and tried to whisper, "Mark."

Blue eyes fluttered open, met Ben's slyly, "Oh, yes, very lovely. I'm close, don't stop…ah! Martin, I'm so close."

You utter bastard, Ben couldn't say, and instead he reached up, covering both their hands with his own and squeezed, just as Mark dropped his head back and shuddered, biting his lip as he came almost silently. Hot semen splashed against Ben's palm and he deliberately did not wince, did not pull away as Mark sighed deeply, drawing up a leg to rest his arm on. 

"And that is possibly the best way one can spend an evening," Mark said, rolling his shoulders in a stretch. "But I'm afraid I can't play any longer. I'd tell you where I was going but—" he flashed them a teasing smile. "I honestly doubt that you care."

"Not a bit," Martin agreed. His face was more than half buried into the pillows, still, but Ben could see one eye opening briefly. "Besides, we both know you're just going home. At least one of us should get to sleep in their own bed."

Mark laughed lightly and stood, walking with marked unselfconsciousness into the bathroom. The sound of running water made Ben think that cleaning up was probably a good idea and yet, he'd barely managed to discard the condom by the time Mark returned, tugging his clothes on briskly. 

"Well, now," Mark smiled down at him where Ben had managed to sprawl. At least he'd gotten off Martin. Mark leaned down and Ben's breath caught, only to leave him in surprise when Mark only kissed him on the nose, lightly. "You might attempt getting some sleep yourself, if Martin can spare you a pillow. Things always seem clearer after a good night's sleep."

"At least one of these pillows needs to be burned before housekeeping sees it," Martin protested blearily.

"Nonsense. I should have it bronzed for posterity," Mark said loftily, folding his coat over one arm. "Sleep," he instructed, "And we'll speak about the pick-ups again tomorrow. Goodnight," he called over his shoulder and Ben watched him walk out the door, heard the soft click as he left the suite entirely. 

Well. This wasn't awkward at all. Martin was still bare-arsed naked and in possession of all of the pillows, the sheets were piled at the base of the bed and Ben wanted nothing more than to obey Mark's last order and sleep. Orgasmic lassitude and good red wine were drawing away his last energy reserves. 

Martin sighed, softly, cracked open one eye. "Are you going to come here, then?"

"I…" Ben trailed off, wet his lips. 

"Come here?" Martin repeated, softening it. His smile was lazily inviting and Ben had crawled up to him before he could help himself, pulling the blankets with him as he eased down. Instantly, he had an armful of damp, sleepy Martin, curled around him for all the world as though he was happy to be right there. Ben closed his eyes and let Martin tuck his head against his chest, at just the perfect height for Ben to rest his chin on top of it. Cuddled in tightly, the both of them still sex-sticky and cooling. 

"Ben?" Martin murmured, a low vibration against his chest. "It'll be all right, you know."

"Will it?" Ben asked before he considered it. He was half-asleep and not nearly drunk enough, curled up naked with one of his…with Martin. And all of the pillows were lost somewhere between the tangle of blankets and the floor. Searching for one that was still in a useable state seemed to be far too much effort. 

"Course," Martin yawned and Ben took a breath when Martin pressed a soft kiss into the middle of his chest. Let it out slowly.

"Of course," Ben agreed, pressed his nose against the warm, damp tangle of Martin's hair and breathed in the scent of his shampoo. He felt it when Martin drifted off, his breathing slowing, evening out, and he was close himself, riding the edge of sleep as he ran his fingers down the soft, sleek skin of Martin's back, over and over. 

Yes, he decided, drowsily. It was going to be just fine. 

-finis-  



End file.
